


Satin in Candlelight

by Amata_Hawke



Series: Tumblr Prompts [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, No Romance, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 20:05:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19180462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amata_Hawke/pseuds/Amata_Hawke





	Satin in Candlelight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carinavet](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=carinavet).



Hawke winced as a sharp, stabbing pain bit into the palm of her hand, sucking in a sharp breath that hissed through her teeth. Her lips pressed together in a grimace of discomfort as she shifted her grip on the chest, trying to move the splinter into a less painful position. Naturally, this only caused the bit of wood to twist and inflict further pain. Although she couldn’t see the wound without dropping the chest, she could feel the wetness of the blood that seeped out. She imagined the red of it staining the wood, and a corner of her mouth twitched into the beginning of a wry smile.

She’d bled a lot here on the roads of Lowtown. Injuries sustained alongside the Red Iron, scuffles in the street with muggers and brigands. Now, this was the last time she would walk through these streets as a Lowtown resident.

Her mother led the way through the labyrinthine streets, following a route that Hawke had rarely used but which Leandra obviously knew well. Frost paced at her side, ears twitching attentively at the sounds around them. The brisk morning air was unusually still today, leaving a light haze of smoke hanging in the air. A couple of years ago, Hawke had scarcely been able to stop coughing at the acrid smell of the smoke that belched from the smokestacks of the foundries in thick, black clouds, even on clear days. She was used to it now; even so, she couldn’t deny her excitement at the prospect of regularly breathing clean air again.

The quiet streets slowly grew busier as they approached the market area, the scent of smoke mingling with fresh fish, baking bread, and stale incense. The Hanged Man was quiet at this time of day. Its residents were sleeping off hangovers, the travelers that had stayed just for the night packing up to continue on their respective journeys. The market itself was already bustling with the morning’s first wave of shoppers.

“Mornin’, Leandra,” called the butcher, setting out a fresh rack of smoked meats. “An’ the lovely younger Hawke, too, I see! Here for the usual? Smoked sausages, innit?”

Leadra lifted her hand in a friendly greeting as they moved past the butcher’s stall. “Not today, Darryl. We’re moving today!”

“Ooooh, finally go’ that Hightown place you’ve been after, eh?” asked the butcher with a good-natured grin. “Well good on you, then! Don’ forget your friends in Lowtown just ‘cause you’re a fancy noble lady, now.”

“I could never,” Leandra said with a smile and a final wave as she turned back to the road ahead. The entrance to Hightown stood at the northern end of this market. Hawke grimaced at the thought of lugging the chest up the long flight of stairs; it would probably stab her again. She only hoped she could keep the blood from dripping onto her clothes.

It was strange to think that everything she had left of her life before this moment fit inside this chest. It wasn’t even all that heavy, just a bit large and awkward. The clothes she and Carver had been wearing when they fled Lothering, the splintered remains of Bethany’s staff, her father’s grimoire. Her father’s staff too, the one she had grabbed to fight their way free of the Darkspawn… and which she’d also broken a year later while she was fighting in the Deep Roads, on their expedition. Getting a new one had proved difficult, and landed her back with the Red Iron for a few months. Also in the chest were small reminders of her first year and a half in Kirkwall. Her Red Iron robes with the chainmail, a bow she’d used—well, tried to use—while staffless. The coins Fenris had insisted on giving her for helping him the first time they met; she’d refused to spend it since it seemed just plain wrong to take money for helping a former slave avoid being recaptured. Anders’ maps of the Deep Roads, a flagon Varric had bought her, her grandfather’s will, a few changes of clothes for herself and her mother. Their whole lives in one box, light enough for her to carry.

Ascending into Hightown was always a long climb, taking them up to the top of the cliffs, where the wind almost never stopped. The smoke was all but absent here, and Anna savored the fresh salt air blowing in off the Waking Sea. The hard-packed dirt and rough stone of Lowtown streets gave way to granite flagstones.

Passing through the market in this part of Hightown proved easier than moving through the market in Lowtown. Fewer patrons were shopping at this time of day, and those shoppers present were mostly hired servants and workers employed by the city’s elite: elves, messenger boys, the odd stablemaster or handmaiden. The fabrics here were elegant and colorful, exotic fruits on display. Anna always found the Hightown markets fascinating to visit.

Anna followed her mother along the broad streets through spacious courtyards, through the Chantry plaza with its massive braziers, right up to Viscount’s Way. The old Amell estate lay right in the shadow of the Keep. The timeworn crest above the door hung dutifully despite its age, the ivy that had trailed across its face having been cleared away. Anna smiled at the memory of having done that late in the night after she bought the property, to welcome her mother back to her childhood home. Leadra hesitated in front of the door, drawing in a long breath. She looked back at Anna, who nodded encouragingly as she shifted the chest again, adjusting it in her arms to better fit through the doorway. With a sigh, Leandra turned back to the door and squared her shoulders as if to steel herself. Anna heard her insert the key into the lock, and the faint scraping of old metal as it turned for the first time in decades.

Hawke had already been inside a few times, taking the hidden passage up from Darktown to enter and clean the old manor from the cellars up to the top floors. She had removed all traces of the slavers, swept the chimneys, mended the broken furniture with magic. By hand, she had scrubbed years of dust and grime from the windows and pumped water up into the well in the backyard. Clean new drapes already hung on the windows, and the scent of dust was reduced to a faint mustiness that would fade away with time.

Leandra stood in the vestibule for a time, staring into the shadowy main chamber of the estate. Anna sidled carefully around her, eager to find a place to set down the chest and get a fire started in the living area. She approached a long table set against one wall, intent on dropping the chest there for the time being. Unfortunately, her foot caught unexpectedly on a bundle on the floor, and she stumbled headlong into the table with a resounding crash. The chest wrenched away from her in the fall, driving the splinter savagely into her palm until it broke away from the rest of the wood, and she yelped with pain and surprise. Leandra made an undignified squawk and hurried after her, one concerned hand on Anna’s back.

“Annabelle! Darling, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, mother,” Anna said, grimacing as she pushed herself back up on her knees, lifting her right hand to rub at the painful bruise on the crown of her head where she’d collided with the table. Her left was bleeding freely from the gash left in it by the stupid splinter. “Andraste’s ass,” she muttered, considering the gash in her hand. She gestured with her hand and made an effort of will, yanking the bit of wood free of the wound, which hurt even more. Another quick bit of magic mended the cut, and she got heavily to her feet with an irritated grunt.

Hawke stared around at the floor in search of the offending object, but saw nothing in the shadows. She lifted her freshly-healed left hand again and willed a small flame into existence, and the dancing light it cast lit the room with a warm glow. Still nothing. She turned around, checking different parts of the floor, and kicked a soft package on the ground right at her feet. She bent down to lift it, the soft crinkling and scuffing of canvas against the stone floor reminding her of the dust covers that had been on some of the furniture here when she’d been cleaning. The package was large and neatly tied, and surprisingly lightweight for its size. Anna cast the fire across the room into the hearth where logs already sat. The fire sprang up into a cheery blaze immediately, and Hawke crossed the room to get a better look at the package, Leandra trailing anxiously behind her.

“What is it?” asked Leandra.

“I’m not…” Anna let her voice trail off as she tipped the package to catch the light, illuminating a not scrawled across it. “‘To the Lady Anna Hawke. I know this is small thanks for what you did for us in the Deep Roads and your hospitality while we’re in Kirkwall, but it was the least we could do. My boy and I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for us. We’ll find some way to repay your kindness, once we get back from our trip! In the meantime, Sandal said the color of these reminded him of you, and I couldn’t help but agree, so happy housewarming! Yours in health, Bodahn and Sandal Feddic.’” Anna quirked an eyebrow and turned the package in her hands with interest. “A gift from Bodahn. I don’t remember telling him I’d bought the house before he left. How’d he even get it inside?”

“Bodahn?” Leandra sounded confused. “That dwarf merchant who went with your expedition last year?”

“Yes, mother. I found his son wandering around away from camp while we were in the Deep Roads. Bodahn was very grateful; I guess he really meant it. I wonder what it could be…?”

Leandra clapped her hands together, suddenly businesslike. “Well, darling, why don’t you take your things up to your room and find out? I’ll head out to the market. We’re going to need a few things to tidy this place up.”

“Alright,” Anna agreed. She removed a pouch from her belt and handed it to her mother, the gold inside making a satisfying clinking noise. “Let me know if you need more. Or you can ask Varric, he’s keeping most of it safe for me.”

“Thank you, darling.” Leandra said with a smile, fastening the purse to her own belt and hiding it in the folds of her dress. “Do you need anything while I’m out?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to the largest cookie you can find,” Anna laughed. “You know we haven’t had anything like that since we left Fereldan? I can’t tell you how glad I am that we can finally afford sugar.”

Leandra scoffed and started back for the door. “You and your sweet tooth. Very well, I’ll see what I can find. I’m buying you some more appropriate clothes, as well, though.”

“But _mother_ , my clothes are _fiiiine_ ,” Hawke whined after her, her petulant tone belied by the mischievous twist to her smile. Leandra rolled her eyes at her daughter and laughed quietly as she shut the door behind her.

Hawke considered the chest, lying all but forgotten on the floor next to that table she’d hit. With a shrug, she snapped her fingers and caused it to levitate and follow her as she made her way up the stairs. Forget carrying it by hand; she’d had enough of that thing to last the year, if not more. Hawke approached the door to the master bedroom without a trace of her mother’s solemnity and swung open the door without preamble.

The master bedroom was dark, as it had no window and there was no fire to light it. Hawke summoned more fire to light the hearth. It cast long shadows over the room; without the aid of a window, she would need candles to light the place properly. For the moment, Hawke willed a small werelight of flame to light her way as she moved around the room. The chest settled itself against the foot of her bed as she strode across the room to a small table she intended to use as a private writing desk. Anna set the package down and considered it for a moment, then drew her knife and cut the twine that bound it. She unrolled the canvas curiously, and she gasped at what she saw inside.

Inside the package was more fabric, but this was like no fabric she had ever seen before. It seemed to flow almost like water, nearly spilling out of the bundle entirely. The scarlet folds made a soft _hissss_ as they slid against each other. It pooled on the desk, glimmering in the light of her little flame and the fire dancing in the hearth across the room like a pile of rubies… or perhaps a pool of blood. It was a nearly perfect match in color to the kaddis she wore when she brought Frost along with her. She ran her fingers over the cloth gently, then pinched it between her fingers, feeling the folds glide smoothly over each other. It was softer than the finest beaver’s skin, sliding through her fingers as easily as it had flowed out of the package.

Anna extracted the rest of the fabric from the canvas, found a corner, and shook it out to see the full size of it. It was larger than she’d expected and additional bits of fabric flopped away from the one she was holding and onto the table as she shook them free. Examination of the stitching at the edges revealed that she was holding a set of bedsheets. Anna raised her eyebrows in surprise, and looked over the top of the sheet at the massive, bare bed. The mattress was new, but she had yet to purchase bedding for it. She’d intended to pick up some nice furs or maybe a quilt in the market later that day… she’d never had bedsheets before, though her mother had spoken of them. It hadn’t even occurred to her to purchase something like this. Imagining sleeping on something this smooth and soft… for the first time, it really hit Hawke that she’d achieved her mother’s dream. The Amell name might be all but gone, but the Hawkes were nobility in Kirkwall, now. _Annabelle_ herself was now some kind of lady. When she went to the market, the shopkeepers would probably call her “m’lady.”

That thought made her laugh openly, peals of laughter echoing off the elegant masonry of her new estate. Frost barked happily in response, adding to the din. Annabelle was a street fighter and a mage, just trying to make her way in the world. A year ago, she’d been fresh out of a mercenary company. A year before that, she’d been a refugee just off the boat, driven from her home in Fereldan by the Blight. Until then, she’d been a farmer and a secret apostate. Now, with a little gold, she was someone important in the eyes of the city of Kirkwall—a place she had never even thought to see. She had bedsheets! Made of some mysterious fabric she didn’t even know the name of. Mother was probably going to bring her robes made of finer fabrics as well. She would still need some sort of blanket for warmth, but it would like no blanket she’d ever owned. Maybe a bearskin, or one of the harts from Orlais? Perhaps a fine quilt of Antivan or Rivaini fabrics. A little luck, skill, and determination, and she had made a whole new life for herself and her mother in a few short years.

“The Maker has a funny sense of humor,” Anna chuckled, taking the sheets to the bed to figure out how to put them on properly.


End file.
